


When The Dawn Comes

by EmpressArieda



Series: When The Dawn Comes [1]
Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, It'll make sense if you read that first, Slow Burn, sequel to A Midnight Caper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-21 07:30:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19998193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressArieda/pseuds/EmpressArieda
Summary: “Starting tomorrow. I’ll accept no less than two weeks off. Effective immediately.” Chief Dubois broke into a grin, standing up and showing him out the door. “Perhaps you could even go on a date or two, no?” he continued, his eyes twinkling in amusement, “I am certain the ladies must be lining up.”Chase gave him a weak smile as his mind returned, much to his chagrin, to the night of the ball, a masked woman who was a horrible dancer, and the hastily scribbled code on a scrap of paper burning a hole in his coat pocket.***After an unexpected encounter with Carmen Sandiego at a masquerade ball and the theft of several famous paintings, Inspector Devineaux is forced to take a leave of absence to relax and take a vacation.Instead, he goes to find her.





	1. Chapter 1

_ Yellow triangle. Blue square. Red trapezoid. Green circle. Blue square. Yellow triangle. Red trapezoid. Green circle...green circle....green circle? Or was it Yellow square? Wait. Were there even yellow squares? _

Chase blinked at the cards in front of him, his heart racing slightly as the shapes and colors all seemed to melt and rearrange themselves. His mind was playing tricks on him, flashing colors at random and hoping one would stick. Colors and shapes and patterns - they all gave him a headache. He sighed, throwing the card back down on the table. 

“Alright,” the student across from him gave him a kind, if pitying, smile as she gathered up the cards that Chase had painstakingly arranged. “I think that is more than enough for today, Inspector. You are showing  _ wonderful  _ improvement.” The words were insincere platitudes and they both knew it, but he recognized that it was probably to make herself feel better. No one liked letting someone down - especially their patient.

“Did I get the sequence right?” Chase asked. 

She looked down at the cards in her hand, suddenly refusing to meet his eyes. “Well, it was a great start. You were just confused towards the end.” 

Chase gave her a wry smile. “I don’t believe that’s much improvement.”

“Oh, no, Inspector. On the contrary, your time has dramatically decreased on short term memory tasks,” the researcher continued to say as she scribbled furiously onto a clipboard, the pen dragging angrily across the page. Chase wondered what she had written - perhaps ‘subject is a hopeless cause who will never return to their former glory as the youngest chief inspector in their unit and will continue disappointing his father for the rest of his sad, lonely days’.

Or something like that.

Apparently sensing his distress, the student gave him another smile. It seemed her smiles became increasingly pitying as the days of research went on. “Please do not worry, Inspector Devineaux. We` have seen many people with focal retrograde amnesia and TBI make remarkable steps to recovery in time. You have already made such great strides. Focus on your growth and keep a positive attitude.”

Chase didn’t have the heart to refute her. She was young, still so hopeful about life and the work that she was doing, and the last thing she needed was to know that her first patient would probably never recover and instead would wither away in solitude and mediocrity. He gave her a half-smile as she led him out of the clinic, reminding him intently to keep up with his therapy sessions. 

And then he was alone again. That is, as alone as one could be on a busy Parisian street at midday. Chase checked the time. Thankfully, the meeting had been quicker than he had anticipated, which meant he could grab some lunch before heading back to the police department.

As he passed an old bakery, the scent of fresh pastries and bread strategically wafted out onto the street, captivating weathered tourists and busy locals alike. Chase briefly considered texting Julia to ask if she wanted anything - he’d observed early on that she never missed an opportunity to try unique local foods, and with her busy schedule tracking Carmen Sandiego, it was unlikely she’d even really had a chance to experience Paris’ cuisine. 

But even as he took out his phone, he dismissed the thought. Chase had kept their relationship purposefully professional. Distant, yet civil (but even this, barely, as Julia continuously lost her temper at Chase’s incompetence). And besides, he reasoned as he continued walking, it was better this way. Getting attached only led to trouble.

**

Back at the headquarters, Chase made a beeline for his desk, hoping to avoid having to deal with any of his colleagues. Not that many of them made an effort to talk to him at length, but sometimes Chase found even simple pleasantries to be unbearable. He’d barely set down his bag before his hopes of being left alone were dashed.

“Inspector Devineaux, I’m glad you’re back!” Julia was carrying what seemed to be fifty large case files, as delicately balanced as the Leaning Tower of Pisa. She quickly set them down on his desk, the ensuing thud raising heads around the office. “How was your,” she paused, trying to search for an appropriate word, “...appointment?”

“Fine-”

“Really? Did they mention any improvement?”

Chase grimaced. “I don’t...well, they don’t tell me anything, really,” he finished lamely. 

“Right,” Julia said, pausing for a response. At his refusal to continue the conversation, she finally sighed and motioned to the stack of files. “Well, this would be all the case files we have that seemed to have some kind of link to the list of potential VILE allies and suspects that ACME provided us,” she finished quietly.

Chase frowned. “How did you gain access to these documents as a junior?”

“I talked to the prefect - don’t worry, I quite obviously didn’t mention our  _ other  _ boss. I just said it had to do with the Sandiego case. It wasn’t a complete lie.”

As he began combing through the files, each containing what seemed to be hundreds of affidavits, eyewitness testimonies, and lab analyses, Chase began to feel a migraine coming on. What horrific demon had possessed him to get into this field of work?

“Oh, and by the way,” Julia began, a bit hesitant. “Prefect Dubois said he wanted to see you by the end of the day. It’s about...what happened.”

She was referring to the kidnapping - or, at least, trying to allude to it in the same awkward round-about way most of his colleagues addressed it around him. After the incident two years ago and then this, it seemed basically everyone treated Chase like glass. And perhaps, given his ever-devolving mental state, they weren’t so wrong in doing this.

Chase gave Julia a nod and absentmindedly continued to look through the files, avoiding her gaze. Eventually, she gave him a half-hearted farewell and a reminder to not stay too late, then left. He closed the file and tried not to think about how terrible of a partner he was.

**

When he walked into the prefect’s office, Chase was greeted by the stout and particularly upset face of Prefect Dubois, who was currently smashing his keyboard buttons and glaring at his computer screen. He knocked at the door lightly, cringing as the angry old man looked up abruptly at him, his expression still one of distaste.

“Please, Inspector Devineaux, do come in and close the door behind you,” Dubois said, pushing his chair away from the computer screen and setting his full attention on Chase. 

“Agent Argent told me you needed a word,” Chase began, but the prefect waved a hand to silence him. This was silly, Chase realized. The prefect technically had very little control over him. He was an agent of Interpol, a far more expansive organization that the Paris Police Prefecture, and if anything, Chase had the authority to request investigations and police work from him. And yet, here he was, steeling himself for a lecture from a man who wasn’t even his boss. 

“Yes, yes. Just take a seat. I have much to discuss.”

Chase sat across from the prefect’s desk, feeling a bit like a troubled school child at the headmaster’s office as Dubois folded his arms in front of him and gave the inspector a strained smile.  “Inspector Devineaux. I trust your appointment today went smoothly.”

“It was fine.”

“Good!” Dubois shifted in his seat, leaning forward. “That is- well, that’s good. How is your father doing? I am sure he’s happy that you’re back on the local force.”

Chase nodded slowly. “He is. I will send him your regards.”

“Wonderful.”

There was a silence as Dubois continued to stare back at Chase with an inscrutable expression. He cleared his throat, flexing his fingers on the desk slightly. “Ah, Inspector. You know that we do greatly appreciate all the work your father has contributed to our police force over the years. And, of course, the work you have done for Europe,” Dubois added quickly. “But as you know, the Sandiego case is of utmost importance to this city, and with the public’s... ehm,  _ infatuation  _ with this vile criminal, we simply cannot afford any bad press.”

At this, Dubois paused, looking meaningfully at Chase. “Bad press, like a thief making off with a priceless painting.”

“A painting?”

“ _ Yes _ , Inspector. Carmen Sandiego stole several Warhol paintings that were on display for the event. I certainly am not someone who understands why a poorly drawn soup can is apparently considered a priceless artifact, but now the entire prefecture has  _ hundreds  _ of wealthy high-powered Parisian socialites with too much time on their hands breathing down our backs because  _ our _ specially trained Interpol agent apparently let her get away! _ ”  _ Dubois’ face was red now, and he locked his fingers together again, letting out a long sigh. “I understand that you have been through multiple ordeals during this case, as well as before it, but the events of last week were extremely damaging to our reputation.”

“Are you...trying to take me off the case?” Chase asked.

Dubois sighed once more. “You know that I don’t have that authority. But I will  _ strongly  _ implore you to take some time off for your own good.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Chase interrupted, “I don’t believe a break is the best idea while an international fugitive is on the loose.”

“Inspector Devineaux, with all _due respect,_ you are not in a state to pursue that fugitive. You made that very clear last week. If you do not take this break, I have no choice but to escalate this to Interpol. And trust me, your father would not appreciate that.”  
Chase’s mouth set in a hard line. It was clear, although Dubois was generally a flexible prefect, that this was something he wouldn’t budge on. And, Chase supposed, he was rather fortunate he hadn’t just been dishonorably discharged by this point considering his bumbling incompetence and Agent Argent’s repeated complaints. 

Dubois spread his arms, waiting for an answer. “Okay,” Chase finally relented, “I will...schedule time off.”

“Starting tomorrow. I’ll accept no less than two weeks off. Effective immediately.” Dubois broke into a grin, standing up and showing him out the door. “Perhaps you could even go on a date or two, no?” he continued, his eyes twinkling in amusement, “I am certain the ladies must be lining up.”

Chase gave him a weak smile as his mind returned, much to his chagrin, to the night of the ball, a masked woman who was a horrible dancer, and the hastily scribbled code on a scrap of paper burning a hole in his coat pocket. 


	2. Chapter 2

_The galleria walls seemed to crumble right in front of him, ancient sculptures and artwork reduced to rubble in mere minutes. There were screams of panic as another blast shook the building._

  
_“I have to go, Inspector! There are people-” More screams rang out, cutting her off. The atrium was being evacuated as tourists clutched their bags above their heads, families held onto their children, those who were separated still crying and screaming and running._

  
_Chase couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He looked down and found that his feet were quite literally sinking into the marble floor. It dipped, like quicksand, and as he squirmed, he could only feel it’s grip tightening._

  
_“Chase. We’re running out of time.” Flames licked his arms as smoke clouded his vision. He looked back at her, trying to make out her face through the grey. Her words were no longer spoken with panic - in fact, there wasn’t a trace of nerves in her voice. She was the picture of courage, her mouth set into a hard line, resigned to her duty. It was then that he understood, finally. She wasn’t asking permission, and she wasn’t asking him what to do. The decision was already made._

  
_Shots rang out further into the museum. More screams echoed through the halls. Chase looked to his right as a young girl sat up against a column, her face ragged and dress torn and dirty. She clutched her knees to her chest, her hiccuping sobs drowned out by the sound of another thunderous bomb being set off. Suddenly, the atrium began to shake. Chase was up to his waist in the marble-quicksand. The column shuddered, then began crumbling._

  
_His partner’s voice rang out one last time, but he couldn’t make out what she had said. When he turned back to look at her, there was nobody there. And through the cloud of dust, Chase couldn’t see anything anymore. The young girl was gone. His feet, legs, and torso were crushed under the rubble. He was laying on his back, looking at the sky. This was the end._

  
_Chase heard another voice, this one punctuated with static, garbled like it was coming from a badly tuned radio. “Hold on. Hold on, please. Please... please don’t die-. ...fix this.”_

  
_There was a flash of light as the screams grew louder, more guttural. The marble floor swallowed him whole._  
  
Chase woke up in a cold sweat, his breathing ragged. Nightmares were not an uncommon occurrence for him, but this one had to have been a flashback - at least partly. He grabbed his notepad, still gasping for breath, and flipped quickly to a blank page. Chase wrote desperately, filling the page haphazardly with every detail he could remember from the dream, every moment he could still see in his mind. It made him feel like a madman, flipping to the next page with a feverous determination. But it all mattered. It all mattered so much.

  
With the satisfaction of having bled his pen dry, Chase sat back, pushing the notebook away. In some way, writing it all down made it feel like he could transfer the pain and fear and panic into the inked pages and out of his mind. If he just wrote it all down and remembered it all again, maybe his mind could stop fixating on every horrific moment. Maybe he could finally get one night of sleep without having to down a bottle of whiskey.

  
The greenery of the French countryside lazily scrolled by outside of the train windows, the passing signs of different towns and villages marking the distance they had traveled. The gentle, rhythmic rocking of the train car juxtaposed his mounting anxiety as it neared its destination.

  
When Dubois had urged him to take - in his and Julia’s words - a much-needed vacation, he probably hadn’t envisioned Chase booking the first train back to Rome, a place he had vowed to never visit again. Before he had left, Chase had sent Julia a text about his whereabouts, conveniently leaving out his plans to meet up with a dangerous criminal. Her response had still been less than enthusiastic, and Chase had ended up ignoring the rest of her frantic calls and texts while trying not to feel like a terrible person for worrying her in the first place.

  
He sighed, turning the piece of scrap paper over in his hands, running his fingers over the haphazardly written code. It hadn’t been hard to figure out - a Caesar cipher, the kind they teach you on the first day of a cryptography class - but Chase was still astounded by the fact that Sandiego had been able to code it so quickly, slip it in her shoe, and escape into the chaos. It was the kind of deus-ex-machina trick that action movies tried to pull, the type of thing that got mocked as unrealistic. No agent Chase knew would be able to pull that off.

  
But then, perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised at all. If almost two years of chasing Carmen Sandiego had taught him anything, it was that it was foolish to underestimate her. Wherever she had come from, whatever organization she was part of, they had trained her exceptionally well. He wasn’t sure if he should be intrigued or wary.

  
Chase’s phone buzzed in his pocket again, and he grimaced, expecting another frantic message from Julia or perhaps even an email from Dubois telling him to come back to Paris. He almost hoped for the latter. It would be an easy escape from the suicide mission Chase had put himself up to.  
Instead, it was an Instagram notification, and as Chase squinted at the username, his stomach dropped. Isabelle.

  
The picture was of her standing next to a man that Chase remembered all too well. They were looking at each other, smiling - not the photo-finished, posed smiles of a couple trying to show off, but the candid euphoria of a carefree love. Her beautiful evening gown hugged her curves, his designer suit highlighting his toned body. In every way, they seemed to have stepped out of a Chanel billboard. A part of Chase wondered why he hadn’t just blocked her yet, erased Isabelle from his life the way all scorned lovers do. But he knew the answer. Deep down, he relished these spirals of depression. It was a good distraction from everything else, and it was safe. Plenty of people were heartbroken, betrayed, cheated on - this was a trauma that was easier to explain.

Her hair was a breathtaking auburn, almost the color of fire in the light. It was what Chase had noticed about Isabelle the first time, as she sat next to him at the bar with an expression far too melancholy to be in a pulsing nightclub in London. His friends were long gone, probably blackout drunk or trying to score with some foreign girls, and Chase had nothing to lose. Or so he had assumed.

  
With the type of unbridled confidence that only a tipsy Oxbridge post-grad could have, Chase gave her a lazy smile and yelled to her over the music, “I can’t tell if it’s hot in here, or if it’s just your hair!”

  
And then had she turned to him, her face streaked with tears, and burst into heart-wrenching, guttural sobs.

  
He didn’t remember the next few moments very well. Perhaps he had said something kind and caring, offered her another drink, or asked her what was wrong. Or maybe he has just sat there in a drunken, dumbfounded silence, not knowing how to console this stranger at a bar.

  
It was likely the last one.

  
For whatever reason, Isabelle had chosen to stay with him. She was from Kentucky, she told him. A run-away. She had two sisters who didn’t talk to her anymore, a mother who didn’t care if she was alive or dead. And now, out of her nannying job after a fight with her predatory employer, she had been kicked out of her hostel.

  
“So,” she said, laughing bitterly between her hiccups, “I’ve had a really shitty week.”

  
“Sounds like it,” Chase admitted.

  
“I just need a damn break,” she said, taking another drink. “Like, I need someone to just sweep me off my fucking feet. I need a Prince Charming.”

  
He smiled. “I don’t think I can promise that much. But I can buy you another drink.”

  
"Honestly?" She tipped forward in her chair, smirking, snaking her arm around his neck. “I don’t think I need it.”

  
There wasn’t much else said after that.

Chase brought himself back to the present, tearing his gaze away from the picture. The image of her, in all her auburn-haired glory, was still etched into his mind. It was a cruel fate, but perhaps it was true. Chase Devineaux would always be haunted by women in red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is mostly more background, but I wanted to explore Chase's character a bit before I put him through a whirlwind of more angst and pain :) :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically the sequel to A Midnight Caper, so the context of the story will make a lot more sense if you read it first!  
> Hope you guys enjoyed - there's more coming! :)


End file.
